


Perfection

by samanthalo



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kristanna, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthalo/pseuds/samanthalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna quickly learns that not only is Kristoff a fast learner, he's also a perfectionist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

Anna quickly learns that not only is Kristoff a fast learner, he's also a perfectionist.

Anna is used to that. Elsa is very much the same way. In their shared dressing room, her side of the closet is always impeccably maintained and curated. Each dress has its own hanger, lays flat and wrinkle-free against the others. Her shoes are kept neat and organized on the racks, arranged by style, each pair in its own place so she never has to dig to find the missing half. Outside the dressing room, Elsa is much the same way. Cool, collected, everything in its place. Even after the Winter Summer, she remain straight-backed and regal, movements and gestures perfectly executed in time to some silent symphony Anna had never heard in her life.

They're spending the afternoon in the study today, Anna reading a new novel just brought in by the Royal Librarian, Elsa at the desk writing letters, and talking sparingly in between about whatever pops into their heads. After an hour or so, Anna tires of novel and takes to pacing around the study, inspecting things she hasn't paid attention to in years, until finally settling on watching quietly over Elsa's shoulders as her pen moves steadily through line after line of text. Each curl and curve of her penmanship is amazingly executed.

“I love how you make your R's.” Anna gushes, pulling a spare leaf of parchment from under the pile when Elsa has finished with that particular letter. She plucks the quill from Elsa's hand, ignoring the little noise of surprise, and begins a series of R's that don't quite match Elsa's own. “How do you do it? Show me!”

“You're going too slow. Its meant to be quick, like this.” Elsa retrieves the quill and demonstrates. The mark on the parchment is beautiful. The following example is almost the same. Anna finds it hard to discern the little inequalities between the two.

“How do you do that?”

“Practice.” Elsa responds with a shrug. “Now give me back my quill, Anna. I have twenty more letters to write.” Anna shrugs and practices with just her finger. She's never been quite like this, a perfectionist, but she thinks maybe she could do things just a little better if she tries.

Kristoff responds the same way when she questions him about his ice cutting technique. The other ice harvesters' blocks are not nearly as symmetrical. There are little cracks and chips in the wares they load into their sleds. Anna watches quietly, observing carefully as Kristoff had suggested she do, on one of those very rare, snappy-cold days when he's given in to her pleading and taken her with him up into the mountains. They're rough with the blocks, shoving and heaving them with sharp grunts, freezing beads of sweat on their brows and in their beards. She moves away when the sled pony shies a little and one of them gives her a bit of a look. 

Kristoff is on the other side of the lake. His patch of ice is nearly harvested. He stands a fair distance away from the square, open patch of water, and measures out a long, rectangular column of ice with the handle of his ice axe. Anna is awash with questions as he moves, bends and stoops, each movement clearly a calculation. She waits as he stands and readies his axe, swinging only once. The column splits perfectly in two.

“How do you do that?” She bursts when he looks up and finds her staring. He chuckles, moving to one of the halves he'd just split.

“Practice.”

“A lot of practice, I bet.”

“Maybe a few years at the most.”

“How long does it usually take?” He stops, stands up and stretches, sensing her questions are just beginning. She notices the way his eyes glance sideways at the other men nearby, banging away clumsily on their blocks.

“Longer. But I don't like wasting time.” It's a simple answer, but Kristoff is a simple man in many ways. Anna bites her lip when he raises his axe, the bulge of muscles in his arms straining at the navy fabric of his sweater.

“Why are you so careful?”

“Because the cleaner the cut, the less waste, the more the ice weighs and the more money you can get for it.” Even distracted, his aim is true and the smaller column splits once more perfectly in two, so now there are three long pillars of ice between them.

Anna is not surprised when Kristoff employs this same philosophy to castle life. His clothes, while certainly appropriate for a more refined setting like the palace, are still simple and straight-forward. She can tell the tailor likes him best when he comes for a visit. No fuss, no ridiculous demands or requests. The man smiles when he comes into the room and finds the newest member of the Royal Family ready and waiting.

He learns table etiquette faster than Anna learned how to slide down the banister. She can tell he doesn't like it, but by the second banquet, he's got it through his head to work his way from the outside in where the silverware is concerned, and how not to slurp his soup, or how to drink the bitter, red wine the staff keeps pouring into their glasses. He nods and engages in short, pleasant conversation and saves his grumbling for later, when they're practically undressing in the hall on their way to their rooms, pulling off cravats and high heels and heavy earrings and too-tight sashes. They grumble together.

“Did you see the way the ambassador was trying to look down Elsa's dress? So rude!”

“The Treasurer kept bumping my foot under the table. It was so awkward!”

By the end of the year, Kristoff knows his way through the halls just as well as she does. He knows all the secret short-cuts to the pantry, to the stables, to the backyard. He knows what large doors lead to what large rooms and which floorboards to avoid when sneaking between his room and hers. While he bumbles around at first, he learns fast, and it's almost like he'd been there the whole time.

It's must the same when they decide fevered kisses and groping over stiff fabric isn't enough anymore. 

They're in Anna's room tonight, Elsa still in her study, too close to Kristoff's quarters, when the top two buttons of Anna's nightdress somehow become unbuttoned and she finds him staring down at the exposed, flushed flesh of her chest with dark, wanton eyes. There's a tangent moment. The air is alive and moving between them, heavy with decision. Anna moves first. She unbuttons the last button and delicately spreads the fabric further apart, an open invitation.

Kristoff leans forward tentatively and presses his lips just above her heart and where its hammering beneath the protection of her ribs. She knows he's never undressed a woman before (other than that one time she fell into the fjord and needed help remove her corset before she froze to death for a second time) but he pulls at laces that look like they need undoing and helps her lift the billowing hem up and over her face like he's been gifted with intimate knowledge of woman's underwear.

She returns the favor, shrugging off his loosed tunic, the sash at his waist, the canvas pants, until they're both hovering around each other in nothing but their skins. They move together, knocking foreheads and wincing, until Kristoff takes charge and uses his size difference to loom over and press her back into the mattress. His hands are stiff and shaking when he places them on her breasts. She accidentally elbows him in the eye when she brings a hand up to her mouth to bit back a little cry. They're all fumbling limbs and sloppy kisses until she leans down to stroke his length and press him against her wetness.

Perhaps it was all instinctual, but awkward, bumbling Kristoff seems to whittle and polish into something else when he's fully seated inside of her. Its take a moment to get used to the feeling, for both of them, but within minutes he's gently moving between her legs and watching her closely, carefully, as if studying which tempo makes her gasp, which position makes her bit her lip. His pace increases steadily, her moans do the same, until all that's left between them now is heated liplocks, the sounds of their bodies meeting, their small, restrained pants of pleasure. 

Anna loses track of time between the start of their tryst and when it ends, with her startled little cry when she unexpectedly clenches around him and his own clipped groan when it's too much for him to handle, but it feels like a lifetime, not the few minutes it really was. She's completely satisfied, but she can tell Kristoff is already thinking when he rolls onto the mattress beside her and presses little kisses to her temple and neck. His eyes have that distant quality when she leans back to look into his face.

“That was...amazing.” She offers. Kristoff smiles widely, brings himself back to the moment.

“It was.” 

Kristoff is a quick learner and a perfectionist in all things, especially in this. They meet the next night, and the night after that, and the night after until it's become routine for one of them to fall asleep in the other's room, naked and sated to the point of exhaustion. Practice, Anna thinks, when Kristoff's hand expertly finds the slick little nub between her legs one evening, softly but insistently pressing against it as his other unoccupied digits press into her over and over again. He speeds up, slows down, presses harder then softer until she's putty in his grip. Poised between her knees, cheeks red, eyes hooded, Anna thinks of herself like a column of ice on the lake being measured and weighted before being perfectly cleaved into halves, disassembled piece by piece with loving care.

She comes around him within a few minutes. Kristoff slows, pumping in and out of her with painstaking patience as he leans back on his haunches. 

“We're not done yet.” He whispers with the faintest trace of a smirk when she looks up at him questioningly. She shivers. His thrusts become less tempered. He waits until she's watching him and swipes the rough pad of his thumb once more over her center. She's a bundle of sensitive nerves and his simply touch is enough to once more have her at the brink. Each time, he waits until her eyes are on him, on the large hand resting against her, just above where he's entering her, leaving her, entering her, leaving her, before teasing that small nub of flesh. She's falls apart around him once more and this time he lets himself give in and follow her.

“What was that?” She asks when her tongue begins to woke again. He's got her cuddled up against him, her backside pressed against his front side, and his face nuzzled into the soft crook of her shoulder. She thinks he likes it there best, safe and sound, close as close can be. 

“What? You didn't like it?” But she feels the press of his cheeks when he smiles and she knows he's just pretending not to be flattered.

“Liked it? I loved it, but you've never-we've never-” They both disintegrate into quiet chuckles and more kisses and Anna thinks once more about perfection.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick, dirty(kind of?), and something I've had in my head for awhile. What else is there to say? Enjoy!


End file.
